Linklater's Bullseye: Boyhood

Slacker, Linkater's first feature film

Slacker was the first Richard Linklater film I saw.  It was one of my earliest art films, and I saw it in an old theatre in Portland.  It was a strange film, and strangely opened my eyes to a new kind of art.  A number of people lecturing about freedom and alternative lifestyles, each from their own perspective.   Really, Waking Life wasn’t that different, with spooky animation and the theme being what life is all about.  But despite the different ideas floating around, they both seemed to be largely disconnected from reality.  So different from Linklater’s films School of Rock or Bernie or even Tape—those may not have been conceptual films, but they were grounded, in a narrative.  The Before movies were in between these two extremes, leaning toward the talking.  They were idea movies in a specific context.  Dazed and Confused was an event film, but leaning more toward conversation than, say, Bernie.

In Boyhood, Linklater I believe, captures the perfect balance between idea and narrative.  He draws in the nostalgia, the narrative, the real life drama, the conversation, the romance, the conceptual conversation, all in one perfect film.  Dang, I used the “p” word, didn’t I?  Let me back off from that for a moment.  What I really mean is that I feel that Linklater has been aiming at some goal all these years, experimenting and crafting amazing films which reach a balance between concept and narrative and I feel that he finally hit the bullseye.

Finally, he has truly connected with me emotionally.  Not because I recognized the scenes and cultural background of Mason’s life.  His is the generation of my children, not of me.  And I have never had to deal with all that relationship drama or dating.  The film hits the emotional target because it honestly draws me in by making these people real, and their lives real, not by hyperdramatized moments, but through visiting this family again and again over a period of years.  I just feel that I know these people.  Not just who they are in a moment, but who they became over time.  So the final scenes of Mason with each of his parents were real emotion, with real power.

The question Linklater wants to answer in Boyhood—possibly the only question he has ever asked in his films—is “what is life about?”  In the conversation, we learn that life is not about the education we receive, the jobs we get, the relationships we have, or the ideals we live by (or claim to live by).  Even though we label ourselves through these things:  we are the spouse of so and so, we “do” this job, we have this degree—that’s not what really matters.  It doesn’t even matter what we intend to do or how we spend our days.  Rather, life is about the moments, the people, the events, the dreams that capture us and drag us along with them.  

Life is the parent who is always there, always supportive, always cheering us on.  Life is not about the person we become infatuated with, but the person who “gets us” and waits for us while we learn to mature.  Life isn’t about our biggest vision, but the one that we pursue for year after year, even if we never make our money from it.  Life is not about the education we pursued for years, but about the knowledge that changes us, makes us the people we are, the people perhaps we were always meant to be.  Life isn’t about the stuff we gather, but what really is important to us, those with whom we live day in and day out, and the things we interact with that shape our being.   Sometimes the most important thing in our life is the small, offhand comment that seemed so insignificant, but it changed us in ways we never would have thought possible.  It is not just the day-to-day, it is the everyday.  It isn’t the drama, it is the small love that lasts over years that’s most important. 

I don’t feel that Linklater has been so focused on one concept Instead of trying to show big ideas compressed into a brief moment in time—a single night, a point in the history of a human life—Linklater succeeds by showing us the whole span of a family.  We cannot understand the scope of human existence until we experience that scope.  In less than three hours, Linklater gives us that span and communicates what is to be focused on. 

The film itself is full of bright cinematic spots.  For the first two thirds of the film, every time Ethan Hawke showed up, the screen lit with his energy and enthusiasm.  Even at the end, he sparkles, understanding better than anyone in the cast exactly what Linklater wants.  Both Ellar Coltrane and Patricia Arquette faltered at first, but they grew into their roles, owning them and helping us experience the growth of their characters.  Some of the scenes, like Olivia taking her children away from an abusive situation, and the self-important teacher giving an ineffectual “darkroom chat”, will remain with me forever.   But most importantly to me is the living philosophy that we had opportunity to experience, not just hear a discussion about.

I think Linklater has always tried to give us a thoughtful philosophy, to try to measure all of us and human existence in one of his films.  Finally, I believe that he succeeded.

Calvary: A Sociology of a Good Man

You would think that being a good person is just pats on the back and accolades.  Rather, the cliche is too often true: "No good deed goes unpunished."

Goodness isn't the same as just being responsible.  Anyone can support their family, be a good provider. Goodness is that extra step of self-sacrifice.  It is being the parent who is gentle with the teenager when she is screaming at your face.  It is the neighbor who doesn't complain about the next door mess, but comes over to help them clean it.

Certain people are given the social position of being a mini-saint: teachers, social workers, medical workers, religious leaders. They have an additional responsibility of goodness.  They are given the task to not only work for their family or themselves, but their whole community.  They are not allowed to slip up, to say that which is inappropriate, to bend or break community standards.  They cannot scream at their objects of help, they cannot take advantage of them, or else they will rightly be accused of harming the vulnerable.  They are held to a higher standard.

Normal people compromise their standards.  That is seen as being human.  They will give up, be prejudiced, even hate, and that is fine.  They understand that being human is weak, that everyone breaks at times.  But the good person may never break, never give up.  They must always be strong in goodness, always put on a good face.  Unfortunately, this means that every good person is an implied accusation to those who get drunk, who give into their hatred, who refuse to forgive, who allow life to break them.  The good person is an offense to those who are normal.  Thus, the normal person must constantly buffer the good, to force them to display their humanity, to show that they aren't any better than anyone else.

The good are threatened, they are called names, they are accused of that which they did not do, they are given motives that they never thought of, their children are threatened, they are beaten, they have fists in their face, they are screamed at, they are hated.  They are tempted with sex, with drugs. This happens to them so they will break and show hate and prove their weakness, and so prove their humanity.

Of course, the good are human.  Every human has a certain level of will power.  Some have more and some have less.  Will can be exercised, like a muscle and it can also atrophy or be overworked and strained.  But no matter who we are, we only have so much will power to work with in our lives.  We focus our will on certain things, which means we don't have will to put into other aspects of our lives.  A surgeon might spend so much focus on precision in cutting and creativity in repairing the human body, that they might not have energy to put into being polite to their patients.   A mother may spend so much time and energy on her toddler that she doesn't have enough "get up and go" to clean the house.  We may disagree as to how a person spends their limited will and energy, but we must admit that no one can do everything.  This is why the normal person is compromised.

What is rarely known is that the good person is also limited.  It is just that they focus their will on being good to others, in being compassionate, in assisting the vulnerable.  This means that other aspects of their lives are reduced.  The priest won't spend time on fixing up his room, the pastor may not spend time with his family, the compassionate person may be addicted to pornography, the teacher uses much of the summer break recuperating from the rest of the year.

And, of course, the good person may very well break.  They might get tired of the accusations and strike back.  They might neglect their family or have an affair.  They might give way to a stroke. They might fall into severe depression or other mental illness.  They might become a hermit or become self-focused.

But what happens if a good person doesn't have any severe breaks?  What if they just move to a different community?  Or, God forbid, suddenly die?  It is then that they really become a saint to the community.  A saint is only safe after they are no longer available to be an accusation.  They can be lauded and statues can be made for them and they can be safely regarded as a community hero.  People might even change after they are gone, seeing their strength and goodness as an example.  Their struggles and difficulties are seen as a passion, a legend of their goodness.

The only loved saint is the one who is no longer there.